Living in Close Quarters
by rurounibug
Summary: The trailer offers the same quality of life as, say, a sardine can.


A/N This is old fiction that somehow I never put up on ffnet. I have not re-read it as it's old enough that I'll probably cringe and change my mind.

this is emphasis, or what you usually see in italics.

/this/ is thoughts and memories.

**living**** in close quarters**

Lying awake at what must be either almost midnight or just past it, it occurred to Youji that the night-sounds of Kyoto were different from the night-sounds of Tokyo. He wasn't even sure when he'd made the observation, or what had caused it--probably sleep deprivation--but Kyoto was a hell of a lot quieter than Tokyo. He missed the usual creaking and settling of the old apartment building. He missed the sound of cars driving way too fast on the small street where the Koneko no Sumu Ie flower shop was located.

This flowershop was a poor substitute for that one. This flowershop wasn't only a poor substitute for a shop and a home, it was also a sad excuse for a trailer, as far as Youji was concerned. The privacy levels were about similar to living in a twelve-foot cell with about thirty other inmates and no stall around the toilet.

But at least cells had toilets and you didn't have to throw on a coat and troop out into the night in the middle of a snowstorm in pajama bottoms to search for a public restroom. And you were lucky to find one halfway decent, if, that is, you found one at all. And then, after all that, you had to put up with the curious looks tossed in your direction for wandering around in pjs in the first place. It was a wonder none of them had been stopped or arrested yet. Or mistaken for a loony.

After the first week, they were very careful where they parked the damn thing. After the second week, they had settled into some kind of an order. After the second-and-a-half week they were ready to kill each other and Birman and Manx, for putting them through this. After the third week, they were ready to kill themselves if it would end this misery. And after that, they had all taken to staying out and away from the trailer, or camper, or whatever Birman wanted to call the dumb thing. Now they only had problems at night, when everyone was back 'home', and free to get into each other's way as much as humanly possible.

Throughout all that, Omi had probably suffered the least. He liked human contact, and he liked having the others around. Especially now that he was studying over the net instead of going to school. Ken probably followed a close second. Depressed after leaving his precious soccer team rugrats behind, he was glad to have the others around to keep him from moping about it. Youji, on the other hand, liked and needed his privacy. He hated not being able to bring anyone home. It was harder to get girls when you had to dance the dance at their place every time. You should at least be able to offer, right? Aya was very likely suffering the most. Aya had been a wreck for the first two weeks. Aya had kicked them all out several times, and when that didn't work, he had himself disappeared for hours on end until his need for solitude was appeased and he could tolerate them without needing to slice them into itty-bitty squares.

Thinking of Aya made Youji grin. He had, for once, managed to acquisition the couch before the redhead. Usually Aya laid claim and staked it out before the others could even think about going to sleep, therefore ensuring it was his for the night. Unless Ken got into a grumpy, grouchy, that's-not-fair-when-is-it-my-turn mood and tipped him out of it. Which did nothing for the peace of the now-cramped household and usually meant Youji got the couch. It was an easy thing to be stretched out across it and 'fast asleep' before the other two were done yelling at each other. Before Ken finished sulking and Aya finished being indignant and offended. Omi didn't like confrontation. Omi would go to incredible lengths to keep the level of hostility down and keep the arguments to a minimum. As a result, the poor kid had yet to experience the dubitable comfort of sleeping off the floor.

Smirking into the darkness, Youji let his green eyes slide sideways to the coffee table. A can of beer sat there, or, more accurately, half a can and two empty ones. Even with the drinking he was wide-awake, and if he kept it up, he'd soon have a need to go trudging outside in his shorts to borrow a bathroom. Not a good idea. He was pretty sure it was snowing out.

So instead of drowning his insomnia in alcohol, Youji lay awake and smoked. Watched the wisps and tendrils floating off the end of his cigarette dance against the low ceiling. Remembered how many times he had banged his head ducking in the even lower doorway and again on his way out. Wondered how long it would take him to hypnotize himself into slumber, lying there and thinking and watching the patterns of cigarette smoke. Wasn't it weird how Aya didn't even stir as the smell of tobacco permeated the air, despite all of his bitching about it when he was awake? How he didn't wake and snap at Youji to turn it out? Or suddenly get up and fling a window open, despite the winter chill, then turn to glare at him, challenging him to protest.

None of them ever did. None except Ken, when he was being even stupider than he usually was. Youji and Omi never whispered a word about the cold air being worse than the smell of stale smoke. They just got up and put on their coats and sat around in their living room/bedroom/kitchen/dining room in gloves and scarves until Aya got over it or got chilled and closed the window himself.

Stretching and resettling himself, Youji wondered if maybe he should open a window, just a crack, just so it would look like he was making an effort at maintaining the oxygen levels in the trailer in case Aya did wake up, coughing and pissed off. Because even Youji had to admit the place was too small for all of them to have things their way even half the time.

In fact, the place was almost too small for them to all sleep comfortably. Omi was, as usual, curled up in front, sleeping with his head in the passenger seat and his feet by the steering wheel. He was the only one short enough to be comfortable there. Youji just hoped he didn't kick the brake off by mistake one of these nights. Ken, banned from the front seat after almost doing exactly that, was tucked into the small space between armchair and coffee table, his sock-clad feet sticking out from under his quilt and just visible around the end of the table, the rest of him hidden behind it. Aya took up the last available floor-space--or the last space large enough to sleep in--stretched out on his stomach by the door, pale arms wrapped about the pillow under his head. Didn't the draft blowing in under the door wake him? Didn't it bother him? But then, Aya was a creature of ice and cold himself, wasn't he?

Well, maybe not. Even puffing on his cigarette and reaching for the beer--despite what it might do to his bladder--and not caring what was going on in his head, Youji couldn't justify that thought to himself. Aya was only cold and ice on the outside. He knew that much. Inside . . . . Well, not that Aya ever let his armor down enough to allow so much as a peek at what he might be thinking or feeling inside. But that armor wasn't as strong as Aya apparently believed, or had convinced himself to believe it was. Youji knew because sometimes it cracked and he could see, providing he squinted hard enough and the light was just right, what Aya must have been before. What he might still be now, under the coat and without the sword and without all that Shi-Ne bullshit and I-am-just-a-murderer nonsense.

He had seen it every time their path had crossed Takatori's. He had seen it after that supposed 'last mission', when they'd all rushed out onto the roof to find Aya standing amongst the flames, not seeing them. Not seeing anything. Very obviously waiting for something to stop hurting, when it just as obviously wasn't going to stop for a long while yet. He'd seen it in those brief moments when the past overlapped the present and Aya would get that distant, pained, almost scared expression in his eyes. And then he would duck his head, or look away, and it would be gone, as if that rare second or two of softness had never been.

Most of the time, though, it took a great deal of spilled blood--usually Aya's own--before the shields came down and there was nothing but the hurt and the regrets and the fear. Nothing there but all that vulnerability that Aya was killing himself trying to hide.

It was a vulnerability that Youji wanted to protect him from, just the way he wanted to protect Ken from whatever fed the bloodlust that was becoming more apparent by the mission. By the day. The way he wanted to protect Omi from the guilt and the memories concerning his bloodlines and certain Takatori. He, at least, was getting better. While Ken was starting to go a little funny on missions and Aya was spending more and more time alone. Growing more and more withdrawn. And Youji . . . .

He smiled ruefully as he glanced back at the cans on the table. He, Youji, was getting reacquainted with an old friend. An old demon. For him, he guessed, it was probably a good thing that he was being forced into living like this, because he couldn't drink half as much as his mind and body and memories sometimes insisted he needed to.

Guilt. Guilt ate you alive from the inside out. It made you wake up in the middle on the night or in the wee hours of the morning with an ache in your gut that even breakfast and bugging Omi couldn't dispel.

And for some odd reason, he hadn't ever realized that the others, though he knew full well about their demons and problems, suffered from the same malady that he did: nightmares.

The first had been Omi's. Had woken him screaming the second or third night into their 'road trip'. At a point when, thankfully, they'd all still been hyped over the whole 'on the road' thing. When Ken had still been singing car-songs as they drove and Aya still participated in conversations--sort of. They had still been sympathetic, at that point. Or maybe it was because it was Omi, the baby of the family. For whatever reason, Omi's nightmare had been met with kindness. With Ken making him tea and Youji talking to him and Aya blinking with drowsy concern as he folded his legs to give Omi room to sit at the other end of the couch.

The second had been Youji's, a scant four or five days after that. Nerves were straining, but the desire to maintain peace was stronger. His waking up and managing to sock Ken in the process was met with stoic, tactful silence. The others had allowed him the dignity of pretending no one had noticed as he soothed himself with a beer.

Ken had been third, waking them all up with an entire screamed sentence, for crissakes. Three weeks and two days into their stay in the trailer. No one had much time for sympathy anymore. No one had sufficient levels of sanity for sympathy any more. Ken's nightmare was met with a chucked pillow from Youji, a muttered curse from Aya, who promptly turned over and went back to sleep--on the floor, for once!--and a soft complaining, "Ken-kun!" from Omi, who pulled his pillow over his head and also went back to sleep.

Aya had yet to wake screaming. Aya just woke most nights with a soft gasp and a frantic searching of all and any shadows. He didn't even need to get a glass of water like Omi did. Or maybe he had to, but didn't want to have to run about outside in his jammies in the middle of winter. Omi just did that funny I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom dance as he struggled into this shoes and took off at a dead run, to return minutes later, flushed and chilled.

Aya sat in the dark and gasped for breath instead, and pretended Youji wasn't awake to know. Or maybe he didn't realize Youji was awake and watching him and shivering at the thought of anything that could scare someone that badly. Maybe for those minutes when Aya was busy clutching at blankets and shaking he wasn't even seeing the insides of the trailer, but something else altogether.

Youji blamed it on the way he bottled everything up. Holding things in like that was bound to make them worse. Holding things in always made them worse. But of course, Aya couldn't see that. Aya couldn't see beyond the perception that any show of emotion, except anger, was a weakness. And it wasn't as if he didn't try his damnedest to quell that one as well.

What drove Youji nuts was that he couldn't help Aya the way he did the other two. It wasn't as if Aya would be open to a hug the way Omi was, or to advice and a night on the town the way Ken was. As if he would be open to anything that meant he had to admit to needing help in the first place.

But what if Youji didn't want to help Aya in the same way he helped Ken and Omi? What if he wanted…more than that. Wanted to be more to Aya than that. Than just a friend? Chances were, that either indicated insanity or certain death. How like him to always want what he couldn't have.

The way he'd wanted Asuka back. The way he'd wanted it so badly that he had convinced himself he did have her back. That Neu was Asuka. The way he'd wanted it and her so very, very badly that he'd been willing to believe everything she told him and willing to betray Aya and Aya's trust. That he'd been very, very willing to throw away their friendship.

And while he was sure now that he was seeing signs of Aya maybe, maybe--please let it be what I think, what I want, it to be--reciprocating whatever the hell it was that he himself was feeling, he couldn't be sure that it wasn't just him convincing himself again. He couldn't be sure it wasn't just another mirage that would fade so soon as he tried to touch it.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep. Only that when he woke it was to the unmistakable, unwelcome feeling of having to relieve himself. Grumbling, cursing the beer, Youji reached for a sweater. Noticed as he pulled it on that he'd burnt a hole into the fabric of his T-shirt. Oops. Smoking in bed. He should really try to knock that bad habit if he was gonna be falling asleep while he was at it. His shoes were easy enough to find, having been kicked off and dumped right beside the couch. His coat… Oh, screw the coat! He had to go! And bad!!!

Youji bounced to his feet and promptly tripped over Ken, managed to control the sudden, spiteful urge to kick him, and bolted for the door. Hmm. It had snowed last night. There was a layer of white over the sidewalk, still smooth and untouched. Untrampled. By tonight, it would be a muddy brown sludge.

Okay, maybe not untouched. There were a couple of sets of footprints leading towards the twenty-four hour a day convenience store whose bathroom they had politely asked to borrow the night before, when they'd parked the van in the lot next to it. Oh, well. It was still clean and white and untouched enough that Youji took pleasure in tramping trough it. He'd have taken even more pleasure in it if it didn't have to be so damned cold!!

Thankfully, the shop was well heated and quickly melted the flakes gathered in his hair and the snow that had managed to sneak into his shoes. Unthankfully, the bathroom was occupied. Omi. Damn it, Omi always got to the bathroom first. What did the kid do? Set an alarm clock? And he was showering. Already. At--pause to check watch--barely seven in the morning! Great!

And, as always, Aya was also already there, towel over one shoulder, shampoo and soap in hand. Very obviously waiting his turn to shower, too. Oh, goddammit!! Youji wasn't happy about this! His bladder wasn't happy about this!! Man, he really had to go!!!

"Um, Aya? Can I get in ahead of you? Please? I won't be a second! I swear it!!" Hissed through gritted teeth as he fought not to wet himself then and there. Aya didn't even look at him, didn't even raise his gaze from the line of ants trooping tirelessly across the floor. A wavering line of small, black ants. Aya just shook his head a little.

"Please? Please? It'll take me half a minute! Okay, two seconds! Please, Aya?"

"No." Soft, barely audible refusal.

"C'mon! What've you got to lose? A deal, then? Huh? I take your shift for all of today?" Spark of interest. Aya considered it.

"No."

"Please? Okay, all of today and all of tomorrow. That's gotta be worth it, right? For two lousy seconds!!!! Please, Aya? Huh? Whaddaya say?" Youji fought the urge to dance back and forth.

"I've already been waiting for twenty minutes." Aya said, looking up now. Violet eyes still hazy with sleep but also very firmly refusing Youji's request. He looked cold and paler than usual in a dark charcoal sweater and black pants. His hair bright against the darkness of rumpled clothing and the white of alabaster skin. If his bladder wasn't protesting so painfully, Youji might have been willing to give up and leave Aya in peace on account of sheer prettiness alone. As it was . . . .

"C'mon, Aya. Look at how we're cramped together like sardines! You've gotta make allowances if you want us all to be able to get along."

"So do you." Good point.

"But I'm gonna die if I don't get to a bathroom soon." Youji whined. Aya looked up, gave him an appraising look. And shrugged.

"More space for the rest of us."

"Uh?" Was that a joke? Actually, it was just as likely that Aya meant it. Or that he was now getting irritated enough to be sarcastic.

"Yeah, but you'd miss me." No reply. Aya was busy studying the ants again. "Admit it, you would."

"Go away, Youji."

"Go away? Where would I go? You want me to find a hydrant or something? I've gotta get in there!!! Please Aya, let me go first!! Please, please, please?"

"No."

"C'mon. Strike a deal. Anything. Anything at all." Flash of violet eyes.

"No."

"Come on!!! Have a heart! I'm practically begging here!!!" Well, no. He was begging, and begging shamelessly. He had to go so bad it was practically a pain now. "Come on, Aya. I have to get in there more urgently than you do, and you're planning to have a shower."

"So?"

"So I should get in first."

"Why?"

"Why? I just explained why!!!" Youji wailed, really bouncing now. God, he was gonna wet his pants in a second.

"Leave me alone, Youji."

"No. Let me go first."

"No."

"Come on. What do you want me to do? Huh? Anything, c'mon. What do you want? I'll let you have the couch for a month! I'll swear off the couch! You can have it for the rest of this damn trip, if you want."

"Youji." Low warning.

"Stop being such a jerk, Aya."

It was getting ugly. Youji felt it going from an argument and becoming a spat. Soon it would be a fight. If there was anything none of them had patience for anymore it was waiting their turn for the bathroom. Aya wasn't even leaning against the wall anymore. He was upright and with his weight back on one foot in what looked like a very familiar pose to Youji. Very reminiscent of the way Aya looked just before he gutted someone.

Before he could, though, the door jangled and Ken rushed in, shivering, wearing shorts and a T-shirt and unlaced sneakers. He stood there with his arms wrapped about himself and took one look at the line before groaning, "Man!!! I've really gotta go!!"

Oblivious to their presence outside the door and very likely of their mounting desperation, Omi started to cheerfully hum a tune.

Ken bounced from foot to foot, either to warm himself, or because he was in a similar state as Youji. "Um, Youji, Aya, can I go first, please? Please?"

They were in a bad mood. Every single one of them. Omi had the radio on. Was sitting in the front seat listening to it, ignoring the others the way Aya did when he was around. Ken was sulking, bouncing that stupid ball around the limited space available to them because it was too cold to play outside. And Youji just sat on the couch, face buried in a magazine, pretending that he wasn't slowly going crazy. It was like some strange form of torture, being trapped in here with Omi's sad, depressing music and the incessant thump of Ken's soccer ball.

Sat there pretending he didn't notice any of the small, irrelevant habits that had become more and more irritating by the day. The way Omi tapped the dashboard in time to the music, the way Ken had that stupid children's rhyme going under his breath, chanting it to the beat of that stupid ball bouncing from floor to foot to knee to head. Pretending to be not worried about Aya, who'd disappeared soon after the bathroom argument. Very likely without a bite to eat. Jeez. Youji thought this might be what it felt like to be someone's mother.

/What am I thinking? I must be going crazy./ he griped to himself, rumpling the glossy pages as he angrily flicked through the magazine, not seeing the words, or the pictures, or even the girls.

But no, he wasn't going crazy. He knew he wasn't. He was…genuinely concerned for Aya's health and his well being. Even if Aya didn't give half a rat's ass about himself or maybe any of the others.

/Now that's not a fair assessment, is it, Youji/ That naggy voice in his head insisted. That annoying, naggy voice that didn't even have the decency to let him slag his teammates in peace. But, okay. It wasn't a fair assessment. He knew Aya cared enough about them to go out of his way to ensure their survival. He knew there were many times when Aya had come back for them when it would have been so much easier to just walk away. When walking away would have, maybe, granted him the freedom he longed for. Freedom from killing, from being death's henchman. Unless, of course, Aya cared more about what happened to them than he did about himself. Because despite his shields of arrogance and pride, Youji could see that his sense of self-worth had been twisted down to almost nothing.

/I don't deserve love. I'm just a murderer./

And somehow, despite that, he could perceive Omi and Ken and maybe even Youji as deserving happiness. Even if they were just as much murderers as he was. Even if Omi had been killing for longer than he had and Ken took more pleasure in it than was probably healthy. Even if Youji couldn't bring himself to care very much about lost lives anymore. Not so long as his family was safe.

And how couldn't Youji worry about him when he was who knew where, without his coat, and maybe in trouble? Just as he couldn't help but worry about Omi and his depression at having to stop school so they could all hide out and be safe. When Omi not finishing school was one of the greatest instances of waste Youji had even seen. A waste of a bright, sharp brain, a quick, creative mind. Even worse because Omi wasn't pushed along by any hunger for power, for wealth or prestige. Because Omi had it within him to put all that brilliance to good use. They should have just handed baby Omi a degree on his way out of nursery school, Youji figured.

But then, he didn't worry for Omi in the same way he did for Aya. He didn't feel that same painful ache when he saw Omi looking morosely out the window as he did when it was Aya. With Omi and with Ken, it was a desire to protect, to keep his brothers and his friends safe. To keep them from harm. With Aya it was…a desire to take the hurt onto himself. To hold and touch. To…posses. To--…

Youji smacked himself in the head with his magazine to dispel the thoughts. Okay. Maybe he was insane. Maybe he was losing it. That was what probably came of being forced to spend so much time in so little space with three other guys. Man, if only someone had forced Manx into this little madhouse as well. That would have kept his brain along the paths it was meant to follow. That would have kept him from thinking about Aya, of all people, and worrying over whether or not he was freezing to death out there, with the snow falling again.

Late afternoon: Omi had departed somewhere to find batteries for his Discman after Youji had snapped and yelled at him to turn the music off, Goddammit, not down. And Ken had seconded the notion, until Youji had turned on him too, and told him to go play outside if he absolutely had to be bouncing that damn ball around. Before he broke something and Aya and Omi both got on their cases, because once Aya was on a roll bitching about something, no one within sight was spared.

Ken had yelled that he lived there, too, and Youji could go out and get fucked if he didn't like it, so there! Nyah! To which Youji had replied that at least he could, so nyah nyah! Which had only irritated Ken enough to almost form a reply, then give up and throw a punch instead. The impact of which had resulted in a nice shiner darkening on Youji's face. Of course, that couldn't go without retaliation, and Youji had grabbed his soccer ball and tried to microwave it. Which would have put him in his place but wasn't very easy to do with Ken fighting to get it back the entire time. And in the end Ken had got his ball back, proclaimed Youji an asshole and a prick, nyah nyah nyah, and stormed off to cool his head or kill something. Both of which would have similar effects. I.e., a much calmer, level headed Kenken, when he returned later this evening.

And in the meantime, Youji had the trailer to himself and it was great. He could just feel the silence creeping into him through his pores, soothing the raw frayed ends of his temper. There was only one thing bothering him now, and that where the hell Aya had gotten to. He hoped he was okay. He hoped he wasn't sliding any further into depression. It seemed every time Aya disappeared he came back a little more withdrawn. As if being here in Kyoto, far from Aya-chan, far from the graves of his family, was slowly killing him. This trip was eating away at Aya, the way it was eating away at Ken and Omi and Youji. Floating loose like this, with no place to really call home, with no routine, was driving them all over the brink. Just as living in the trailer was slowly eating away at any vestiges of humanity and patience.

Which brought him to another question. Another problem. That of privacy. Ken's messes were starting to gradually claim the interior of the already cramped trailer and Youji only gave it a couple more weeks before the growing pile of stuff staged a hostile take over. Omi was a bit better, but the vestiges of his research were also scattered about. Small piles of paper and photos and disks. Youji's mess usually consisted of a few beer cans and an overflowing ashtray. Aya--Well, no one who didn't already know a fourth lived there would have guessed it. Aya left almost no sign of his residence. Maybe the occasional book resting face down on the coffee table or in the armchair in that way that was guaranteed to break the spine.

With such limited levels of privacy, how could Youji ever hope to have a chance to get closer to Aya? Especially when it was so likely they were already all too close. Because he highly suspected that whatever Aya felt for him, he wouldn't want to advertise it. He suspected Aya would gladly kill himself rather have it known that he was--gasp!--having a relationship with--gasp, again!--Kudou Youji, of all people.

Because Aya was trying to hide it by being even more standoffish than usual. Because he was even more stubbornly impassive when talking to Youji than he was when talking to Omi or Ken. Because every now and then, despite there not being enough room in the trailer for him to maintain the carefully guarded perimeter of his personal space, he would accept a touch from Youji. Even when Ken and Omi were making him bristle from irritation and annoyance. Especially when Ken and Omi were making him bristle from indignation.

"Youji?" Youji looked up. Aya. Standing there pale from cold and shivering, shaking snow off his sweater as he looked about, rubbing his hands together. Hmm. The idiot had forgotten his gloves, too.

"Hi Aya."

Aya was still looking around.

"Ken and Omi are out."

"It's almost dark."

"Yeah. They'll be back soon."

"Oh."

"But not that soon."

After all, it might be a good long while before he had the space and the silence and the privacy to try and make this move again. To try and speak the words that were threatening to catch in his throat.

"We have enough time."

Aya blinked, gave him a curious look as he stood there shivering in snow-dampened clothes and wind-chilled skin. "Time?" Youji nodded.

"Enough to warm you up, anyway."

tbc


End file.
